


Sheltered

by RootCellar



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5732380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RootCellar/pseuds/RootCellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strangeness abounds, and it's all he can do to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mike was getting a little too good at this, and that worried him. For anything else it would be something to have pride in, but not here. Excelling at guard duty tended to make him overconfident, and when that happened things tended to go, well, somewhat awry. Taunting the bird probably wasn't a good idea last night, especially since it seemed to get the gist of the awful words he mouthed through the glass; the machine stood by the door for a solid twenty minutes, staring at him with those dead eyes. That had scared the shit out of him.

He was beginning to think they could do more than just move around and kill him. Machines operate on logic and programming, so simple "stress relief" on his part shouldn't have much of an effect - scratch that, no effect - on how they'd behave or respond. But last night he could have sworn the thing looked hurt when it finally wandered off. Then again he might just be projecting empathy in the most misplaced way possible.

It was getting close to midnight and he'd been doing this for weeks now with only a few close calls; his adversaries had upped up their game, certainly, but they couldn't compete. Mike was too anal retentive, and far too detail oriented. Only in the restaurant, under such a bizarre and miserable context, did his talents come to bear. Estimating the bots' movements, predicting Foxy's run, and using the power in the most judicious and efficient manner were second nature now, but this didn't help him out there in the real world. Despite being intelligent the masses didn't take much notice of a man that could barely stammer out a sentence without having a nervous breakdown.

Society was an odd animal, to be sure. Supposedly it operated on logic and order, but from what he had observed it seemed to run on anything but. People killed, stole, and indulged in selfish interests, caring little for the thoughts of others beyond what would affect them personally. Then they'd care. Then they'd cry and screech for "fairness." The rumblings on the news were a testament to his outlook judging from the little he gleaned during the waking hours. Something about "escalation of conflict" and such. He cared little for politics, but they were part of the world he lived in no matter how silly they might be. Thus he listened, however minimally. People would always be people in the worst way imaginable.

The phone rang, signaling the beginning of the shift in earnest. Discarding his thoughts he set to the task at hand, cycling through the cameras and flickering the lights left and right. There was no movement as of yet; the machines were still in their starting positions. But give them time. He never bothered answering the phone anymore considering it would just replay old content; the proprietors of the place probably didn't expect anyone to last longer than a week before quitting - or otherwise - and just cycled through the same tired recordings. Efficient, if not depressing.

His thoughts were broken by a whine in the distance, steadily growing louder. Somewhere outside the building. It struck him as something vaguely familiar, like something he had seen in a movie. The noise was close enough now to identify clearly: a warning klaxon, screeching into the deep of the night in all directions. He wasn't sure what could possibly be happening... Then the ground rumbled. It started slowly at first, enough to make Mike second-guess whether it had happened at all, but moments later the shaking began anew and the entire world lurched.

Mike hit the ground hard, losing his footing as the earth dropped from beneath his feet. It was only a short drop - merely inches - but it was enough to take a rough tumble. The shaking was getting more violent: the fan lay in pieces in front of the desk, the filing cabinets shook as the rivets holding them in place whined in protest, and he couldn't help but think that he was falling. A quickly growing feeling of butterflies in his stomach was testament to that. Without any prompting both doors slammed shut.

"Good evening!" a loudspeaker barked, the voice rough and tinged with age, "If you're hearing this, it means the worst has happened. Good for you! That means that you get to live on! Now I'm going to let the actor take over here, we spared no expense after all to do this the right way, but just know that I'm counting on you! Say hi to that better tomorrow for me!"

He struggled to stand as the vibrations continued to course through the building and managed to grab hold of the desk; silently he thanked whoever had the sense to bolt it down. As the assault continued he could hear what sounded like a roller churning behind the concrete wall. Before he could investigate or question the absurdity of the situation any further, the speaker blared to life again.

"Hello, Fazbear Entertainment Employee, this is Sam Elliott, and I will be your companion as we mosey on in to the apocolypse. I reckon for having a need to have your ear chewed you coulda done worse than me, so count your blessings and hold onto your butt. This paper says it'll be about five minutes 'fore things settle down, so be patient and try not to spill your vittles. To put it more simple: hang tight, buckaroo. And afore you ask, yeah, the contract stipulates I talk like a cowboy. It ain't a thing I do regular. Just sayin'."

This had to be some freakish nightmare. The beans in the fridge were only a week old, and they had tasted a little... Off. Yeah, that had to be it.

"You still listenin', dude? Course you are, you don't have much choice I reckon. Right about now them blast doors should be shut tighter than a gnat's asshole, right about where your feet used to be sittin' with respect to sea level. The saloon is far below now, almost at final depth. The ride down is slow since the building weighs a bunch, not to mention the chuckwagon that's hauling down with it. We'll talk on that more later. For now just relax, like I told ya."

Down? The whole building was sinking? That wasn't possible, wasn't the restaurant in the red? On the verge of bankruptcy? The building was still churning, though that uncomfortable feeling in his gut had passed. None of this made any sense.

"Now I imagine yer thinkin', 'Sam, this don't make a lick of sense. What kinda cockamamie scheme is this shyster tryin' to pull?' Well I can tell ya, pardner, the owner of this place's checks cleared just fine. Believe you me. This is a recording so I don't know the particulars, but I'm guessin' a bomb fell. Somethin' like that, anyway. Probably them wily Chinamen. At least you'll be safe down there in that fancy shelter."

The earth shuddered one final time before coming to a stop, the jarring shift almost enough to knock Mike over again.

"Alright friendo, the paper says you should've arrived at 'Terra Firma.' You'll need to head on over to the storage room for further details. Once you get there we'll talk a spell longer. For now, adios muchacho!"

Mike heard the sound of a horse cantering into the distance, then the recording went dead. On cue both doors opened, creaking slightly as they rose. Oh God, the doors were open. Testing the switches his worst fears had come to pass: the lights and doors were inoperable. Maybe... Maybe power wasn't an issue anymore. Perhaps an emergency generator of some sort? Staring at the tablet revealed the familiar sight of the power percentage dwindling quickly; to add insult to injury the cameras were dead. All lights were on and the doors were stuck open, so this would be it for him. There would be no escaping this time.

But Sam had mentioned getting to the storage room, something about further details. Maybe, just maybe, there was something there he could use to protect himself. The only option would be a sprint, probably through the right hallway. Foxy would probably be screeching down the left path any second now, so he'd need to get moving if he had any intention of avoiding death.

He braced himself, kneeling down and getting set for his final exodus from the security room before taking off a moment later. Bonnie and Chica seemed to be absent as he passed through the right section of the restaurant. No bots to be seen so far, which was only good news. His lungs burned and his legs were on fire already in spite of the short distance traversed. This was an incredibly poor moment to regret not keeping in shape.

None of the machines were present on the stage either, which worried him. That could only mean that they were somewhere else, waiting to pounce. The door to the storage room loomed, the gleam of the door handle taunting him as he approached. Just a few more steps... Suddenly the wind exited his lungs as something grabbed him roughly, cares withheld and momentum be damned.

"Hi, Mister Schmidt! You REALLY shouldn't have said those mean things to me through the window."


	2. Chapter 2

Chica towered over Mike, clenching him tightly against her chest. And Mike could verify with terrifying certainty that the machine was not as soft as it looked.

"You just gloated and teased me alllllll the time, didn't you?" it clucked at him, "Like there was no way I could get to you. Well, how about now, huh? Got any fresh remarks for this bird now that we're face to beak?"

He shook his head wordlessly, mouth agape as he stared up at his captor.

"Yeah, thought not. Let's get you into something a little more your size. How's that sound?"

The bird hoisted him up over its shoulder before he had much of a chance to state his position. As it stood he was unsure which unbelievable event he should be focusing on.

Sam's voice droned overhead. "Kindly mosey on over to the Storage Area as soon as you gather your wits about you. I'm sure you're mighty spooked about now, but just follow these guidelines and you'll be fine. I reckon this is a fine time to mention that you have four minutes remaining before the preservation protocols kick in. So getty up."

"What was that?" the machine squawked. "Are you trying to trick me? Haven't you been mean ENOUGH?"

Mike said nothing, eyes still glossy as he tried to process what was happening. Chica wasn't pleased with his answer. "Don't clam up now! Usually you things are screaming at this point, so what's the big idea? And what's that guy on the radio talking about, huh?"

He finally found his voice. "Not a, uh, not a radio. It's a speaker, Missus Bird. Ma'am. Please don't kill me?"

"Well it wouldn't be much of a GAME if we didn't kill you for losing, Mister uh- I can't see your nametag. Care to help a lady out?"

"It's M-Mike," he stammered, "Mike Schmidt."

His tormentor chuckled. "Ha. Weird name. Well I'm Chica, but you already know that. Just didn't want to be rude, unlike SOME people. There's always room for civility, Mike. Remember that."

She looked around, seeminging annoyed as the Cowboy's voice echoed again overhead. "Three minute warning, folks. Don't want to stick around for what comes next, I can assure you."

The bird took off towards the storage room, effortlessly transporting her prisoner as she swiftly moved through the hall. It only took a moment to reach the storage room, and Mike could only wonder why the machine seemed so much faster now than it ever had during previous late night "hunts." They'd never spoken, either; nothing beyond the normal recordings and sound bytes they used during performances. Chica tried to open the door but was met with unexpected resistance.

It didn't take the revelation well. "What gives? This thing is ALWAYS open!"

Glancing backward from his position over Chica's shoulder, Mike saw something odd: a keypad. How could he have missed that before?

A crackle pierced the air followed by an electric hum. "Ahem, it's Sam again. As an additional measure to ensure that only the designated Fazbear employee enters the next area, you'll need to enter in a little personal information into the keypad. And yeah, there's a keypad. Don't fret none over it if you didn't notice it before. Just enter the day, month, and year of your birthday and you'll be let in. Only room for one living dude, sorry to say. So just enter it in and you'll be let in lickety split. Oh, and two minutes are left. Elliott out."

Sam's ability to predict Mike's thoughts was beginning to annoy him.

"Alright Mr. Schmidt," Chica sighed, "I don't know what all this is about, but I'm gonna get in this room and you're gonna help me, ok? So just tell me what to hit on this thing and we'll move on to better things. Better for me, anyway. So, birthday?"

Mike remained silent. After all, what reason did he have to assist with his own untimely demise? 

A few awkward moments pass before the yellow menace speaks. "I see how it is. Rude to the last. Well, how about this? If you don't tell me the code to the door I'm gonna start breaking your bones one by one. And when I finish breaking all the bones I can I'm gonna start removing digits. And when I remove allllll the digits you've got - there's twenty right? Right, there's twenty - I'm gonna move onto the limbs. And so on, and so forth."

Yeah, that's a good reason. "Do I, uh, get anything for being cooperative?"

"Yeah, you might be somewhat recognizable when we're done. How about that?"

"That's not a great reason, Chica."

"Ok then, guess I'll start with the ribs-"

"Alright, alright! I'll tell you the code. Just make it quick... April 18th, 1986."

Chica smiled, somehow. Rather toothily. "See? You CAN be agreeable!"

The bird tried pressing the keys on the keypad. Then tried again. Then tried a third time. Then a fourth. After the fifth attempt she growled and struck the wall, elliciting a yelp from her captive.

"Did you lie to me about the code, Mike? This thing isn't doing anything. And don't tell me it's 'cause my fingers aren't dainty enough. They're PLENTY dainty! And pretty!"

Mike gulped. "I-I swear! I didn't lie about anything, honest! That's my birthday, April 18th, 1986! Maybe the stupid system is wrong, how would it even know my birthday?"

"I'm sure it knows," she answered, nodding in agreement with her own words, "Fred's employees are all pretty smart. How about this then? As loathe as I am to admit it, my feathers aren't doing the job. So I'm going to put you down and YOU are going to enter that code. And if you try to run..."

She punched the wall again, grinning with satisfaction as a few chunks of stone exploded outward from the impact.

"...I'm gonna murderize ya!"

Mike needed little prompting. "U-Understood, ma'am."

She gently set him down so he could set to work. It looked like an unremarkable keypad, but obviously the bird's attempts weren't doing much. After a moment of examination it was easy to understand why: capacitive keys. It was a touch screen. "Heh, yeah that'd do it."

The speaker whined overhead again, crackling a moment before Sam's voice filled the air. "One minute, folks. Get a move on. Oh, and don't mind the noise."

As if on queue a dull vibration set in from underfoot, similar to what Mike had felt the first time. Unseen mechanisms were beginning to churn, a steady squeal building up somewhere beyond the concrete walls. 

"What are you doing, human? Enter the code!"

Remembering the earlier threat, Mike set to work. "Ok, here we go." And then nothing happened. Beeps emanated from the keypad corresponding with the numbers, but a loud buzz followed. It wasn't working.

Chica tapped her considerably heavy foot against the floor, each tap a reminder of exactly what lurked behind him. "I think you're playing with me here, Mike. You'd BETTER enter that code! And right this time!"

He entered it once more only to be answered the same way. "It's, uh, not working. Trust me, I know my birthday! I'm putting it in right, okay?"

"Mike! I'm gonna clobber you! Put it in the right way!"

"I'm trying!" Buzz. "I'm really trying, honest! Don't kill me!" Buzz.

The cowboy chimed in once more. "Fifteen seconds. C'mon. Mosey."

"I don't know what's gonna happen in fifteen seconds Mike," she spat venomously, "but I can tell you what's gonna happen in ten if you don't stop messing around!"

"It's." Buzz. "Not." Buzz. "Working!" Buzz buzz buzz.

The machine drew its fist back. "Say goodbye, Mr. Guard! I gave you a fair shot!"

A voice interrupted the impending violence. "Put a zero in first, you dolt."

Not bothering to question his savior, Mike entered the full sequence. A ding sprang from the keypad, and the door unlocked.

"Five seconds folks," Sam rang out, "better be where you need to be!"

"Get inside, fools! Quickly!"

Before he could act Mike was ripped from his feet. He found himself in the storage room only a moment later as three tall shapes shuffled in as quickly as their frames would allow. The door swang shut once they were inside, producing a soft click as it closed. Almost as soon as the entryway sealed the world shook. Even worse than before. As the Earth shuddered beneath them the machines struggled to keep upright, slamming into the walls and each other trying to keep balance with Mike barely dodging out of the way of their considerable mass. A loud hiss could be heard from beyond the door, growing in intensity as the shaking commenced. Mike wasn't sure what was happening out there, but he was glad he escaped it... Even if that only meant delaying the inevitable. 

It ended almost as suddenly as it began, tapering off slightly as the noise slowly vanished altogether. Mike watched as the machines gathered their wits and stature, noting Foxy picking himself up from the floor while Chica dusted him off.

"Way to fall, Foxy. Really."

"Yeh see me legs, chicken? Let's have yeh try and buoy yourself when yer legs are as threadbare as mine!"

"So uh," Mike spoke up, "You all can talk. That's cool. I'm gonna pass out now, if you don't mi-"

Four heads swiveled in his direction as the surreal setting vanished, Mike's mind finally succumbing to the insanity the night had wrought.


	3. Chapter 3

The light was cresting just over the hill, its sharp rays burning his eyes as they struggled against the glare. It hurt to try but there was little else to do; there was nothing but desolate wasteland as far as could be seen, only the path before him remaining. Only a sun-bleached hill standing fast against the fire beyond. Straining his vision he could make out two figures in the distance, their silhouettes carved defiantly against the sun. He wasn't sure why but he felt compelled. Or propelled. Something. 

Whatever it was, it pulled from deep within, invisible hooks latched onto his consciousness. So he needed to move. He needed to meet up with those waiting ahead, but the trail was still long. Still treacherous. A tumbleweed cartwheeled past as he looked ahead, a gentle wind pushing it to whatever destination destiny intended. He was smart enough to know when he was being mocked. One foot at a time, he started to move.

\-----

"-nie! Yeh know we can't make that call without HIS say so!"

"He's out of his mind, Foxy! He can't rationalize anything right now. I'm second in command so I say we-"

"Hey rabbit, who died and made you king of the murder-bots? Who says YOU get to be giving the orders around here?"

Awareness returned to Mike slowly, the conversation in the background drifting in and out. He could've sworn he had been elsewhere, if only for a moment, but perhaps not. It was hard to recall. His eyes blinked as vision returned, the three machines just barely present from the corner of his eye. 'Ah right,' he recalled, 'I was about to be murdered.' He quickly shut his eyes, not wanting to draw any notice from his unexpected roommates.

"Please, bird, are you serious? You couldn't even get the human to enter a simple code. I had to help with that. Who knows what would've happened if I hadn't been there to take control of the situation."

"Simmer down, me buckos. Hold fast yer tongues afore they cluck a blistering oration yeh shan't be able to recant."

"CLUCK?!"

"Chica, yeh know I did nah mean any cross words."

He couldn't see the bear, not from the small slits he allowed his eyes at the moment. Playing dead seemed like the only option for now, though he wasn't sure why he was bothering; there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and the bots were very much aware of how vulnerable he was. Chica had seen to that.

"Whatever, Foxy. You and blue boy over there-"

"Purple, you fool! I've ALWAYS been purple."

"Whatever! You guys can handle things without me. I'm gonna try and figure out... Whatever is wrong with Freddy. Did that stupid guard wake up? Mike Schitt, I think it was?"

"Language, you loathsome poultry! And it's clearly Schmidt if you would have a care to read something once in a while. Like his name badge, for instance?"

"Easy, purple boy, yer gettin' yaself well and proper riled fer no logic worthy of purchase. Hen, try to sway the cap'n once more if yeh can."

Had something happened while he was out? He still couldn't spy the bear anywhere, but he dared not open his eyes any wider. As far as he knew these were his last moments alive, and he wasn't interesting in testing the accuracy of that assumption. He heard a small shuffle as something drew near, something well outside his vision, but he couldn't move. That would be it if he did. Maybe they would think he was dead if he just kept perfectly still. 

Something traced his forehead, a gentle tickle that forced an unbidden shudder through his body. 'There he was,' he thought, terror gripping him, 'the bear was behind me the whole time.' The light touch against his head continued further down, a metal hand daintily brushing against his face. Its fingers lowered close to Mike's eyes, an unspoken threat dancing a dangerous waltz against his delicate orbs.

"Rejoice, brothers and sister," Freddy spoke, "for the manling has returned to us. Open your eyes, child. I know you are awake."

Mike did as he was told; the jig was up. Freddy stared down at him, a strangely serene expression crossing his normally intimidating countenance. He wasn't sure why but the dread fell away, if only a bit. Looking around Mike could see that Chica looked positively elated. He wished he could share the sentiment.

"Oh good, he's up!" she crowed, "Can we do him now? Lets give him the sauce treatment! I've been wanting to do that one for aaaaaaaaaages but none of you guys ever let me!"

Bonnie rolled his eyes. "That's because it's far too messy, far too inefficient, and far too hard to hide the evidence of afterwards. Honestly, do you ever think?"

"Well guess what, ya bum? It's Freddy's call, not yours. What do ya say, boss? Can we do it my way?"

Mike's heart climbed into his throat as he looked at the bear. Freddy turned his head upward, as if appraising something the rest of them couldn't see. Then he smiled. Mike would always remember THAT smile.

"No. There will be no 'saucing.' There will be no killing tonight. All debts have been paid," the bear spoke, turning back to face the guard, "barring, perhaps, one that has yet to be revealed."

"Really Cap'n?" the pirate questioned, "This be very... unusual, if you'll pardon me for sayin' so."

"No, it's out of the question. The game has changed, and so have the rules. Didn't you all feel it? Can't you sense it?"

Mike had no idea what Freddy was talking about, and looking around it appeared the rest didn't either. Something about them being off-guard made him feel comforted. He surmised this new coping mechanism wouldn't last him too much longer given the circumstances.

"A shard of hate fell from above," Freddy continued, "striking and creating everything anew. All debts have been paid. All evils have been snuffed. All good has been vanquished. There is only what remains, and it's time to move forward. The slate has been well and thoroughly wiped clean." He leaned forward, his face nearly touching Mike's own as he grinned wider. "Yes, only what remains. Only what we've brought with us. And remember, dear friends, it's ALWAYS important to take care of your toys, especially when they can't be replaced. Tell me, human, what's your name?"

"Freddy," Bonnie piped up, "It's right there on his-"

The bear's eyes glinted dangerously. "Bonnie. I was not speaking to you, was I? Yes, I'm quite aware of the text emblazoned on his little placard, that small sign that both defines and limits him, but I want him to speak it. I want him to impart it to me. So, Night Guard, what's your name?"

Mike gulped, all too aware of the deadly tone of those words. Fear and panic began to mix as his tongue struggled to gain traction. "M-Mike Schmidt. I-It's Mike Schmidt. Or Michael. O-Or Mikey. Whatever you want, really, sir."

"Hmph, well there you have it, friends," the bear grunted, "his name is Mike Schmidt. And now he belongs to us."

The bird clucked, her agitation palpable. "What do you mean 'ours,' Fred bear? We've gotta kill him! It's the rules!"

"Chica, I AM the rules. Or have you forgotten that?"

"N-no, Freddy, but-"

"Shall I remind you why I'm in charge, pretty bird?"

"Freddy, no! I get it, I get it! We won't be killing him! Sheesh. Why do you always have to be marrowdramatic?"

Bonnie slapped his head. "MELOdramatic, you indolent cur!"

"Shut up, blue boy!"

"For the last time, birdbrain, I'm-"

"Enough." Freddy stated, a single word bringing a halt to the argument. "As I stated once already, it's time to move on. It's time to take a look at our future together." He grinned wider, the glimmer of endoskeletal teeth just visible past his articulated maw. "All five of us. One big, happy family. Foxy, since you've been a dear at trying to maintain civility during my period of meditation, would you like to be the one that ushers in a new tomorrow?"

"'Course, boss! But, eh, if you'll excuse my ignorance, the gate behind is barred good and tight. No way out as far as I can gauge."

Freddy chuckles, gazing with some measure of fondness towards Mike. "Ah, the burdens of leadership. If you'll excuse me, Mike, I have to pave the way."

The leader moved away from Mike, his steps silent as he approached the back wall. It seemed solid as far as Mike could tell. Nothing but cinderblocks and concrete. Freddy began to probe the surface of the barrier, his fingers nimble as they slowly grazed the mortar. He seemed to be looking for something. Moments later the bear laughed, his amused guffaw nearly splitting Mike's eardrums from the sheer volume of it.

"It's alright, Foxy. I have a bit," he chuckled, waggling his fingers, " of a four digit advantage. Regardless, the way forward is here. Grab our new playmate and guard him close, if you'll excuse the pun. This could get a little... Messy."

Foxy limped over to Mike, prodding the him with the dull side of his hook. "C'mon. Up with yeh."

The two ambled back towards the entrance, attempting to stand as far back from the wall as possible. Things seemed to have shifted in Mike's favor, though for how long he wasn't certain. For now he would take what small mercies the universe deemed fit to grant him, and an ungrateful spark of bitterness within him hoped the robot would choke on that condescending authority it wielded. Maybe later he could make that a reality, but not anytime soon. 

Freddy's eye twinkled in the diminished light in the room, his grin broad and his gaze piercing. Yeah, Mike could work with goals like that. Soon a smile of his own bloomed, and the two reached a silent accord as their eyes met within the strangeness of that small space. Yes, much later. Breaking away from their contest of wills Freddy addressed the wall, rearing back with a mighty blow intending to topple it entirely, when a familiar voice sounded from somewhere above.

"Howdy folks, Sam again. Go ahead and stand back aways from the back wall there. It's gonna open up quick and it ain't much particular about what's in the way when it does. Hydraulics are a cruel mistress."

And then the wall parted, the mechanical forces pulling it apart uncaring of the physical impedance of the foundation; it cracked and crumbled, crunching into small pieces as the chasm opened wide. Only darkness was visible on the other side. Freddy looked a bit crestfallen at having his moment stolen from under him.

"Ah, well then. It looks like even the Earth itself knows who's in charge, eh friends? What say we sally forth into the abyss, then?"

As if on queue light poured from the crevice, forcing even the robots to recoil from the sheer brightness of it. Moments passed before they were able to take hold of their senses, and once they did the majesty of what lay before them was laid bare to see. 

"Inconceivable! The dimensions are absurd! Preposterous!"

"W-Wow! It's huuuuuuuuuge!"

"Shiver me timbers, lads, this be a sight for the ages!"

Mike merely stared, seeing but not believing. The grandeur and magnitude of what lay beyond the threshold seemed to bely the senses. Was he really seeing this? Could this possibly be real? "Wow. So this... This is the end? This is where we finish things?"

Freddy laughed and grasped Mike's shoulder, chuckling further as the young man recoiled under his touch. 

"No, dear friend. This is just the beginning."

The bear stepped forward, eager to act the vanguard. As he looked back at them his body basked in the glow, seeming to drink in the potential of this brave new world before them. A chill traveled down Mike's spine as his captor smiled wider still.

"Welcome home, Michael."


	4. Chapter 4

'Changing the world one mind at a time.'

The colorful banner swayed above as they entered the abandoned space, streams of dust cascading down as the air pressure rapidly adjusted itself. Mike could only stare in awe at the sheer size of it; metal catwalks creaking above, cubicles and partitioned office spaces filling out parts of the cavern. 

An enormous spool of wire ran the length of the floor from what he could see in the dimness, terminating somewhere in the distance. He couldn't rightly see where. As the group pushed in further they took little time to gawk as he did.

"Bonnie," the bear rumbled, "Go have a look around. We need to secure the temple, but I'd stay away from any high spaces. That's the territory of angels, after all."

"A-At your direction, of course," Bonnie replied, timidly, "Can Foxy come with? This place is rather immense."

"Take Michael. Foxy has other tasks to attend to."

"Ah, well sir I don't think he'll be, well, useful if you don't mind my saying so," the rabbit replied, eyes downcast in Michael's direction.

Freddy chuffed a bit, shooing Bonnie and Mike with a careless wave as he surveyed the "temple," as he called it.

"Just do as I say, Bonnie. Oh, and one other thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"If any harm comes to the guard," he spoke softly, glaring at the tall bunny, "well, for the sake of justice there will be a reckoning. It's the will of the new world, you see."

Bonnie balked for a moment before casting his eyes down, quickly nodding as he moved towards Michael.

"L-Lets get going then, dear Michael, sir."

Michael simply walked in step with his new mechanical guardian, his fate hanging on the whims of a questionably sane robot bear. Who could talk.

\-----

They had traveled the floor for at least an hour, and Michael could only guess at the relative size of the cavern. Miles, but the question was how many? At least three judging from the steps he had taken and how tired he felt. He was never very athletic, but he was fairly good with numbers. So that was something, at least.

A small headache had been creeping up on him ever since they first set out from the entrance. The cavern was fashioned like a factory, of sorts. Or maybe a laboratory. Everything he saw seemed to cause a twitch in his brain, like recognition just out of reach. Something cognitive that refused to fire, all somewhat familiar yet wholly alien. They traveled past many strange contraptions: salon chairs, cages lined with barbed wire, and several elevators that didn't seem to work. He could only guess they went skyward, up towards the catwalks that Freddy had banned them from visiting. Estimating the height to be at least in the hundreds of feet, he felt somewhat grateful.

They also found books. Books were everywhere, and in several varieties covering a myriad of topics: from animal husbandry to aqueducts, from marketing to metallurgy. Seemingly any subject, all non-fiction, all reference material. A library protected and preserved, though in seeming disarray. Broken equipment was strewn amidst the functional and whole, and he couldn't help but feel that something bad had happened here, once upon a time.

"What is 'Australia,' Michael?"

The question broke him from his thoughts. "Sorry, what? Australia?"

"Yes," Bonnie confirmed, "Australia. We've been wandering for some time now and I see mentions of it quite frequently. Posters and other such marketing materials. What is it? Is it another restaurant?"

Australia. It sounded very familiar to him, but for some reason he couldn't place it. Place! Yes, it was a place of some kind, but he wasn't exactly sure. Something itched in his skull as he pondered, and he could feel a headache starting to form.

"I don't really know, but it seems familiar. It feels like some kind of place, I think. Soemthing like that."

The scenario still seemed quite surreal; occasionally Sam would speak to them from above, garbled and distorted. Something about "bane" and a year that he couldn't quite make out. Eighty-seven? Eighty-eight? It seemed meaningless without the context, but he was glad for the company. He still wasn't sure if he was actually alive or if this was a bizarre fever dream that he had yet to wake up from. 

"Seems like something a human would've known, but I suppose I'm asking a lot of a one year old. You're certainly the biggest baby I've ever seen."

Michael's steps halted, causing his robotic companion to stop as well. "What are you talking about?"

"Come now, Michael. It's 1987, and according to both yourself and the restaurant's detailed records, you were born in 1986."

The headache was starting to come back. 

"Th-that's right. What's so weird about that?"

Bonnie giggled a bit, leaning against a nearby wall in response to his question.

"Well Mister Guard, while I'm hardly an authority on human beings and their various biological mechanisms, gestation periods, or growth chronologies, I'd say you're an anomaly if you've only been around for a year. You're an odd duck, that's for certain."

He had trouble remembering, but he knew that was his birthday. He was certain of it, and questioning it only seemed to hurt his head even more.

"I t-told you the truth," he said, gritting his teeth, "April 18th, 1986. That's it. Just like on the keypad."

"Right. Even though you forgot the zero at the beginning the first time. Well, I won't question it if our increasingly fearless leader has no issues with your bizarrely accelerated progression. The others are too dim to notice, anyway."

Bonnie turned and started walking further into the complex.

"Come along, lets keep going. I'd work on that, if I were you. The thinking, I mean. It might hurt, but it will do you a world of good."

Michael grunted as he started to follow. Had the headache been that obvious?

"Michael, come along now! And by the by, what is 'Brisbane'?"

Much the same as before, he had no answers to give. Only a vague sense of familiarity and a stinging in his mind.

\-----

Another hour passed before they had managed to circle back to the entrance, and his aching feet were relieved to see the other machines milling around in the area. At least it meant he wouldn't have to walk any further for a while. Foxy was the first to notice their arrival.

"Avast! What did ye find out there? Any treasure?"

Chica's head swiveled into view as she spun in an office chair, beaming for only a moment before the entire frame collapsed with her on top. She hit the concrete rather unceremoniously, legs flailing in the air as she vainly attempted to right herself.

"Ack! Help me up! The chair tried to kill me!"

Bonnie strolled past Michael, rolling his eyes.

"No, Miss Ducky, that would be gravity and metal fatigue. In these trying times it's nice to have constants, at least."

"Just shut up and help me! And knock it off with that pirate stuff, Foxy, there's nobody here that cares anymore!"

As the machines helped the bird back to her feet, Michael couldn't help but notice the absence of their leader. It was both comforting and alarming, seeing as the machine was the only thing keeping the others from tearing him to pieces or stuffing him in a sharp and pointy coffin.

"You all are dismissed for the evening. Do as you please."

The bear had arrived as if on queue, approaching from the darkness carrying an assortment of boxes and bags. Taking no notice of Michael he emptied them out on the floor, sending cans and containers rolling amidst chairs and desk legs. 

"Food for our precious friend. He has needs, after all. Go on, Michael, have a look. A young man like you needs to keep his strength up."

Corn. Beans, Hominy. All sorts of preserved goods were present, all bearing the bear's grinning face and sporting the Fazbear logo. All with an expiration year of 1987, though the more specific date was too blurred to read.

"Aha," the fox laughed, "I see we'll be able to keep this one fat and fed for a tidy time, then? Wish I could eat. That'd be grand, really, but alas."

Freddy kneeled down, staring at Michael and bearing no concern for the human's personal space. 

"It's alright, Foxy. We all have purpose in the coming days of this grand new world of ours. For now, I think Michael needs to rest."

Sam's voice echoed from above once again, announcing that the time was 9 PM. Partner. 

"See? I'm never wrong. Now, lets away to dreamland, Michael. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

Michael balked, and even the other animatronics looked vaguely unsettled.

"I hate sleeping alone, you see. Nightmares," he said, pointing towards his head, "I'm going to keep you close, that way it's safer for the both of us. Perhaps I can share the universe with you, if you're especially good."

"Freddy," Chica started, more perturbed than her fellows, "he's a fleshbag. What are you thinking?"

The bear grinned as he hoisted Michael up over his shoulder, turning only slightly to address her. Michael knew better than to resist, despite the strangeness. Where would he run?

"I'm thinking, little bird, that you would look absolutely stunning with a fire where your eyes live. How does that sound?"

And with that they marched off, Michael's upper body bobbing as the bear walked off, bearing witness to the disgusted faces of the animatronics they left behind.

\-----

It took only a moment to arrive at what appeared to be a utility closet, one oddly reminiscent of a place the bear used to dwell in simpler times. They opened the door and entered, the cramped nature of the space immediately evident; there wasn't enough room for both of them to stand, and as the bear shut the door he inadvertently bumped his rider's head.

"Oops. A thousand pardons, I'm not used to having a companion in my private moments. Well, slide down a bit so we can get comfortable."

The strangeness had finally caught up to him, it seemed, and Michael tensed as he wasn't sure what to do. His breathing hitched, and it was all he could do not to move. Sensing his discomfort, Freddy moved him down of his own accord gently, embracing him like a child would a stuffed toy. A very large stuffed toy.

"There there," the strange machine crooned, rubbing the guard's back in small circles, "Everything will be well again. You'll see. The Universe has great plans for you, Mr. Schmidt. Wonderful plans. And I'm going to be there to guide you down the right path, every step of the way. You'll stumble and fall, certainly, but I'll be there to pick you up."

Michael's breathing returned to a semblance of normal after a moment, his mind relinquishing itself to the machine he had no chance of escaping in such close quarters.

"And break your fingers if they stray too far."

His breathing became labored.

"And snap your legs if you try to run."

Michael whimpered softly in the dark of the closet, shaking against his captor.

"And crush your jaw if you refuse to eat."

Fleshy hands scrabbled at nothing, failing to find any sort of purchase beyond the machine's grip.

"But that's only if you don't follow directions. There can be good times, too. Like what we have right now. So sleep, little guard, and dream of a better, brighter future." 

Silence fell for a moment as Freddy gently rocked back in forth, softly humming a familiar tune.

"After all, it's 1987," the bear said, his voice carrying a smile, "and its been one hell of a year."


End file.
